The Book Nook
by Zeft
Summary: At the first Quidditch match of the season, Oliver Wood 'looked as though he could have kissed Hermione'. What if he did? A Hermione-centric fic. OliverHermione. Very loosely follows the plot of PoA. Chapter 4 now up!
1. Default Chapter

THE BOOK NOOK; Chapter 1, The Stranger.

Author: Zeft

Author Email: zeft_ml@hotmail.com

Category: Drama/Romance

Keywords: Hermione Granger, Oliver Wood

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: CoS, PoA

Summary: Very loosely follows the plot of PoA. At the first Quidditch Match of the season, Oliver Wood "looked as though he could have kissed Hermione". Well, what if he did? A Hermione-centric fic. Oliver/Hermione.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

***

'How much work do you have left to do, Hermione?' Ron asked. He was sitting on a cushion nearby, playing wizard's chess with Harry. Hermione suspected that Ron was about to ask if she could join Harry's team; he was losing badly.

'A lot. Why?' Hermione answered.

'Wondering if you could give Harry a hand here,' said Ron, gesturing to the chessboard. It was rather a bad sight, twelve pieces to five. Still, Harry did have a chance. 'I'd like a challenge.'

'Switch places then,' Hermione sniffed, looking at the chess pieces Harry had left. She didn't know why she was in such a tetchy mood; perhaps it had something to do with stress and all the homework she had to finish before tomorrow. She ignored Ron, and turned back to her Arithmancy problems.

Ron must have guessed Hermione was in a bad mood, and no longer bothered her. He didn't take her advice either though, and the chess match soon ended. Harry went up to his dormitory, saying he needed to get something.

'Want to play Exploding Snap, Hermione?'

'No. I said, I have work to do, okay?' answered Hermione, not bothering to look up. She was bent over her Arithmancy textbook, eyes squinting at the small print. She turned the page, only to be greeted by a page full of symbols she didn't understand. After a brief look at the summary, she gripped her quill, and slowly, painstakingly began to write her report.

'How bout Gobstones?' Ron was persistent.

'What part of "I have work to do" don't you understand?' Hermione said testily. Would he care to leave her alone, for a few minutes? Was it too much to ask?

'C'mon, you can do that later,' Ron said. He tugged at her piece of parchment.

'Ron! Don't do that.' She tugged back. This only made Ron tug harder.

'Ron, let go.' Hermione said through gritted teeth. The two engaged in a battle of wills. Both refused to let go, and both pulled harder. Hermione half-thought about hitting Ron over the head with her textbook, but the only book in sight was an age-old library book, already falling apart at the seams. Madam Pince would have a fit if she damaged it.

Crookshanks chose this moment to make his entrance. He slinked, bow-legged, down the dormitory stairs. 

The lump in Ron's pocket quivered.

Crookshanks stared. 

Then without warning, leapt for Ron's throat. Ron yelped, and jumped out of his chair. The parchment tore, sending Hermione flying backwards. Her hand caught the inkbottle, which tipped over and spilt and started to spread all over the table.

'Oh, what did I do to deserve this?' she cried, exasperated. She grabbed everything that the ink hadn't reached yet, and piled it all high on her chair. Her Arithmancy chart was beyond repair though. Hermione held up the two pieces of parchment and looked at it sadly before hurling it into the fire.

'Er…a little help here would be appreciated,' Ron said sarcastically. He was on the floor, trying to reach Scabbers under a chest of drawers and at the same time, trying to push Crookshanks away, who was spitting and hissing like mad.

'Wait your turn,' Hermione answered crossly. Luckily, the ink was thick and hadn't spread that far. A sofa cover managed to get most of it off, but the table was still stained blue.

'Hermione, get your mad cat out of here!' Ron roared, trying to grab Crookshanks by the tail. 

'Alright, alright,' Hermione muttered, and stalked over to where Ron was twisting around on the floor. She bent over, grabbed Crookshanks round the middle and hauled him off to her dormitory, where she shut him in.

'Look at what your cat did to me,' Ron said angrily when Hermione returned. He held out his arm. Hermione could see lots of little scratches, but nothing too deep or distressing.

'They're just scratches,' she said. 'Go to Madam Pomfrey if you're so worried.'

'That cat could have eaten Scabbers!' Ron said, furious. 'Why don't you make sure your door's properly shut, next time?'

Hermione would never have usually made such a big deal out of a such a small incident, but something in Ron's tone made her react. He sounded so livid, it was stupid but Hermione was beginning to think Scabbers meant more to him than she did.

'I can't shut Crookshanks in like that! It's not healthy for him!' She yelled back. She strode over to her table, where the remains of her work lay. She gathered up her things and shoved them in a bag.

'It's not healthy for Scabbers either!' Ron retorted. 'Look how thin he is!' He dangled Scabbers in front of Hermione's nose. She pushed Ron's rat away without looking at it, hoisted the bag over her shoulder and made for the portrait hole. There was no way she could work here, it was just way too distracting. 

'Hey, where are you going?' Ron yelled when he saw she was climbing through the portrait hole.

'To the library!' Hermione yelled back. When she heard Ron snort, she added, 'Least it's not full of idiots who won't let people work in peace!'

By the time Ron retorted, Hermione was already halfway down the corridor. In her mad dash, she hadn't even realised she was going in the wrong direction. The library was the other way.

Abruptly doing a half-turn, Hermione stalked back towards the Gryffindor Common Room. Honestly, Ron could be so damn stubborn sometimes. What was it with that rat? She had tried, really, to shut Crookshanks whenever possible, but she couldn't help it if Parvati or Lavender liked having the door open.

The sight of the library calmed Hermione down slightly. She was still pretty miffed, but now there was no chance of her saying something she would regret later. She reminded herself that she had plenty of work to do, and to shut all thoughts of Ron and Scabbers out.

Madam Pince gave her a half nod when Hermione walked in. This was about as close to a smile as she was going to get. Madam Pince never smiled. Her jaw wouldn't allow it. A half nod meant that she approved of you.

The library gave off a vibe of its own. All the polished wood, rows among rows of bounded print, the low-hanging candles emitting only enough light to read by, everything seemed to have life. 

Hermione felt the familiar tug of the shelves calling her. For once, she ignored it. There wasn't time to get more books, she had all the materials she needed. She headed for the deserted corner she always worked at.

During her first year, by chance, Hermione had stumbled upon a worktable hidden by a tall stack of shelves. It was perfect, right in the middle of the reference section. The dust covered table and chairs had indicated that no one had visited this place in a long time. Not even Madam Pince, otherwise it would have been polished until you could see your reflection in it. Madam Pince despised dust.

Hermione wouldn't have believed that no one had ever worked there. The place was almost perfect. Comfy chairs, books within easy reach, quiet atmosphere. Sitting down however, she could see why. The thick stacks of obscure reference books hid the entrance from view. It was the only place out of Madam Pince's direct gaze, which Hermione found was a benefit. Also, not a sound drifted in from the centre of the library, where most students usually worked. She herself would have never found it, had not she gone snooping around for "A Selective Encyclopedia of Charms for the Creative Artist".

Once she did find it however, she always came back to it. Madam Pince often wondered how Hermione would come in, then practically disappear for a few hours. 

Today, however, Hermione was annoyed to see that she would not be alone. Drawing closer among the bookcases, she discovered that someone else had found her spot. An unfamiliar male sat, back to her, hunched over a pad of parchment. Hermione could hear the scratching noise made by the quill as it scribbled quickly across the page. 

The logical part of Hermione's brain reasoned that the place technically wasn't hers, and that this boy was as much entitled to it as she was. The other part said that he was intruding on her own private territory, and that she should do something about it. Like throw him out, for instance.

Hermione was curious. The shelves round here were all filled with advanced magic books. Long, arduous biographies of great wizards and witches from the past, enclycopedias of magical theory, tricky spellbooks just short of making the Restricted Section. Basically, only a bookworm like herself would ever browse here.

The boy moved. Hermione froze, then relaxed again as she saw that he was only removing his scarf, which he laid out onto the table. Brushing a hand through his short hair, he turned back to his work.

Hermione wondered how long she was going to stay watching him. It was totally unlike her, she could either go up and tell him to move or find another spot. Her bag of books seemed to get a little heavier, as if to remind her of all the work she had waiting. Wasn't it the reason she had left the common room, to get her work done? Since that was so, then why was she wasting time staring at a complete stranger?

Maybe not a _complete _stranger. The scarf on the table was scarlet and gold striped, he was a Gryffindor, that was for sure.

Hermione heard him mutter to himself. Very curious, she tiptoed closer, wondering what the intruder could possibly be thinking about. She leaned inwards, and the bag slipped off her shoulder. 

__

Thump!

Before Hermione could even react, the boy was out of his chair in a flash. She scrambled to pick up her bag.

'Who's there?' the boy said accusingly. He definitely knew someone was hiding, there was no way Hermione could pass it off as just a load of books tipping off the shelves by themselves. 'If it's you Flint, I swear I'll curse you good, you nosy, cowardly Slyther-'

The boy stopped when Hermione stepped out of the shadows.

'You're a Gryffindor,' he said accusingly, looking at the scarf she had poking out of her bag. 'Why are you spying on me?'

Hermione straightened herself and tried to look indignant. It was rather hard to try and stare down someone who was a head taller than you. The stranger was tall and well-built with a handsome face. Not the sort Hermione usually encountered in libraries, she had to admit. His features looked decidedly familiar, but no name came to her.

'I was just coming here to get some work done,' Hermione explained. 'Same as you, I'd imagine.'

'Well you can work somewhere else today,' he said coolly, 'I'm busy.' 

'Just a minute, I have as much right working here as you do,' she replied.

The boy's face seemed to consider this. Hermione knew there was almost no hope of getting him to leave, but she damn well wasn't going to let him push her away.

Hermione knew she had won when she saw him pushing his books to one side. He sat back down on his side of the table and ignored her. Hermione walked forwards and sat down next to him. It was lousy, but she could share for one day.

Taking out her materials and setting them on the table, she couldn't help wondering what he was studying about. He was obviously deep in thought, eyebrows scrunched up, quill tapping against the parchment as he decided what to write. Or draw.

Hermione watched his quill dip into the ink, then trace a smooth oval round the page. Then rapidly, he filled it up with fourteen little circles and drew so many arrows and lines that the whole page was almost a blur of ink.

'No, no, this will never do,' he muttered, looking at his work. He scrunched up the parchment and set fire to it.

Hermione jumped. Magic was banned in the library; didn't he care about getting into trouble? She looked around wildly, afraid that Madam Pince was going to jump out of the shelves and swoop down on them any moment now.

The boy noticed her anxiety and gave a chuckle. Hermione stiffened. Was he _laughing _at her?

'Why are you laughing for? You could be in detention any minute now!' She hissed, keeping her voice down in case Madam Pince happened to be nearby.

'You're wrong. The first rule of rule-breaking, do it somewhere where the teachers will never find you,' he said smugly. 'This is the perfect place. Madam Pince can't see us, let alone smell the smoke.'

Hermione had to admit he was probably right. This place was almost impenetrable. She said nothing more and tried to get a start on her Arithmancy homework.

It was totally useless however. She stared at the textbook page, looked at the quill in her hand, then at her piece of parchment. For what was probably the first time, the three failed to connect.

It must be the boy sitting next to her. His presence was affecting her work. Hermione wanted to get angry at him, she had come here to finish her work, and now couldn't think of how to start. But she couldn't be mad at him. He was doing nothing wrong. For the past thirty minutes, he had gone about his work, making pages and pages of scribbles, not bothering her at all. The only time he made any noise was when he turned the pages of his giant textbook.

'Whatcha doing?' He asked. Hermione looked at him. He was smiling, his stacks of scribbles piles together on top of his textbook ("A Millennium of Quidditch Tactics, Rules, and Famous Plays"). He must have finished.

'Work,' she answered lamely. It definitely must be his presence. A smile from him had turned her brain into mush.

'Well, you haven't written a word,' he commented, looking over at her pages. For some reason, Hermione felt the need to hide her work. His eyes fell on her textbook. 

'Tut tut,' he said, shaking his head. Hermione felt a flicker of anger. Who was he, to criticise her work? 'That's not the book you want,' he added, before getting up and disappearing into the reference section.

Hermione stared after him.

He came back a few seconds later, with a book under his arm. He tossed it, and it landed neatly on the table with a thump.

'What's this? "Arithmancy for the Mentally-Challenged"?' she said incredulously. Did he think she was stupid?

'Don't be put off by the title,' the boy said, sitting back down in his chair. 'It's a wonderful book for second-years-'

'I'm a third-year,' said Hermione angrily.

'Yes, yes, second-years don't do Arithmancy any more. Anyway, it's a good book, I'd be surprised to hear if you didn't get full marks, using this book.' When Hermione looked doubtful, he added, 'trust me. I used this book doing my third-year, and I almost managed to beat Percy.'

Percy? Did he mean Percy Weasley?

She had so many questions left unanswered about the mysterious stranger, Hermione was sorry to see him pick up his equipment and leave. She almost called him back, but bit her lip at the last moment as she watched him disappear between the bookcases.

She shook her head sadly, and looked at her watch. _Oh Lord, _Hermione thought, _an hour's passed and I haven't so much as written a sentence. _Abandoning all thoughts of the mysterious boy and anyone else, she grabbed a quill and dipped it hurriedly into the inkpot she had bought. 

Hermione was skeptical at first, but one glance at "Arithmancy for the Mentally-Challenged" solved all her problems. She finished her Arithmancy problems at lightning speed, and after that, Hermione seemed to regain her usual momentum and whipped through the rest of her work.

As she packed up to leave, Hermione debated whether or not to borrow "Arithmancy for the Mentally-Challenged". True to his word, the boy was right. It was amazingly useful. But she didn't think she could sneak it into the common room without Ron noticing. If he saw, Hermione would never hear the end of it. She decided she'd leave the book here, and come back for it later. Besides, had she attempted to borrow it, Madam Pince would have raised a few eyebrows as well.

By the time Hermione arrived back the common room, Harry and Ron were nowhere in sight. She looked over the chattering heads, and tried to find the boy from the library. He was nowhere in sight either. Disappointed, she went up to her dormitory. 

Depositing her bag neatly on top of her trunk, Hermione undressed for bed. Parvati and Lavender must have already fallen asleep; their curtains were drawn and the dormitory was still and silent.

Hermione thought about the afternoon. She didn't have a chance to see Ron, to tell him that she was no longer mad at him. She was still pretty annoyed, but she should let that pass, for the sake of their friendship. 

***

The enchanted ceiling looked like it was going to split open. Hermione shivered, though she was far from cold. It was the day of the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. They were going to play in the middle of thunderstorm.

'It could be worse,' Harry said, trying to be optimistic. A few minutes later, everyone would be filing out towards the pitch.

Ron pretended to think. 'No,' he said, 'I don't think it could be worse.' Harry shrugged. He was nervous, Hermione could tell, but he didn't show it, much.

Hermione was on Ron's side. How on Earth were the teams going to be able to play in the pouring rain? She looked towards the windows; they were all fogged up. You wouldn't be able to see three feet in front of you, out there. It was madness.

'They should change the rules,' she muttered, pushing her breakfast away. 'Postpone the game.'

'They can't do that,' replied Ron.

'Why not?' Hermione wondered. It was perfectly logical to her.

'They just don't play it that way,' Ron said, in way of an explanation. He stood up, and grabbed Hermione's hand. 'C'mon, the game'll be starting soon.'

Hermione looked around and saw that Harry had indeed slipped off to the changing rooms, along with the rest of his team-mates. Ever since meeting him in the library, Hermione had thought about that mysterious boy. Breakfast would seem like a perfect opportunity to look around for him without any questions, but he seemed to have disappeared. She hadn't seen him since that night. Hermione thought of asking Percy about his friends, but down that way led unnecessary and possibly awkward questions. 

She stood up and followed Ron into the entrance hall. 

A crowd had milled round the front entrance. They didn't seem to want to take the first step into the rain, even though lots of them had brought umbrellas. 

Hermione and Ron pushed through the crowd. The doors had opened, and a furious wind now blew into the castle, whipping hats off heads and sending hair flying in all directions.

Hermione opened her umbrella, and she and Ron made their way down to the pitch.

The stands started to fill up with people. Hermione sat near the top with Ron, close to the goalposts. She noticed that there seemed to be a distinct lack of Slytherins, maybe they though a Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game wasn't worth their time. Or perhaps they were afraid of the rain. 

'Not many Slytherins turned up,' she said, nudging Ron.

'Shhh…it's starting.' Ron replied. He had his eyes fixed down at the centre of the pitch.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn't see why it was necessary to be absolutely quiet during a Quidditch game. Not like you could hear much over the noise of the rain, anyway. Hermione cast her eyes downwards and squinted, trying to pick out the people through the rainy haze.

A whistle sounded, and suddenly the players were off. Hermione saw fifteen blurs ascend from the ground. Her head looked up towards the goalposts. The Hufflepuff Keeper was already in the position. Her eyes scanned the pitch for Harry, but she couldn't find him.

She poked Ron in the ribs. 'Any sign of Harry?'

'Nah, he's disappeared.' A cheer went up from the Gryffindors, Angelina had scored. Hermione watched as the Hufflepuff Keeper passed the Quaffle to a Chaser, who immediately zoomed off towards the other end. Hermione's eyes followed him, but the Gryffindor Keeper was too far away to see clearly.

Several minutes passed, the rain came down harder than ever. Once or twice, Hermione could have sworn Harry shot by, but there was no sign of either Seeker having spotted the Snitch yet. 

Even though it was charmed, the umbrella wasn't doing as good a job as Hermione would have liked. Raindrops started to trickle down her neck.

'Harry would never be able to find the Snitch in this rain,' she muttered to Ron. 'Surely his glasses would have fogged up?'

'Wood's called a Time-Out,' Ron informed her. 'Look, they're huddled down there.' He pointed.

Hermione had sudden bolt of inspiration. She emerged from under the umbrella and bolted towards the stairs.

'Oy, where are you going?!' Ron yelled, aghast. He started to get up and follow her, but then sat back down again. He knew from experience whatever she was planning to do, he wasn't going to talk her out of it, so therefore he should just sit down and hope for the best. Which he did.

Hermione tore down the stairs at lightning speed, ignoring the fact that her robes were almost soaked and that her hair had gone frizzy.

She ran towards the huddle of Gryffindors.

'It's my glasses,' Hermione heard Harry say. 'I can't see anything with them on, and I can't see anything with them off, either.' She saw him take off his glasses, trying to wipe the fog off with a corner of his cloak.

'Well, let's hope you catch the Snitch soon, otherwise we'd be playing into the night.' Another voice said.

Hermione stopped abruptly. She shook her head. No, it couldn't be. 

Hermione almost forgot why she had come down here in the first place. She approached Harry.

'Hermione!' Harry said, surprised. His team-mates turned around. Hermione saw the Captain's eyes widen, but he stayed silent. They all looked at her.

She fumbled in her robe pocket then bought out her wand. She took Harry's glasses.

__

'Impervious,' she said, and tapped Harry's glasses. 'There,' she said, handing the glasses back to Harry, 'They'll repel water now.'

Harry put the glasses on and blinked. The team anxiously waited for the verdict, Hermione most of all. Perhaps she had got it wrong? It was such a useful spell but she didn't remember having used it before.

'Well?'

Harry grinned. 'I can see perfectly.'

Although totally soaked and splattered with mud, George Weasley gave a whoop. 'We're back in business! Thanks for your help, Hermione.'

Hermione beamed, and turned around. Her heart almost stopped.

The boy from the library was rewarding her with the biggest smile she had ever seen. She looked back at him, feeling somewhat faint. Then, without any warning, he leaned forward, took her gently by the shoulders and jokingly kissed her. Right on the lips.

Hermione was so stunned, she didn't respond. It didn't matter, he pulled away a second later, to shout some instructions to the Weasley twins, who were smirking. 

Still dazed, Hermione looked around for Harry, but he was deep in conversation with the three Chasers. The team set off again. She looked imploringly at the Captain, but he had already flown off.

Hair gone wild, drenched to the skin, Hermione found she didn't care. She licked her lips with a shy smile, then headed back to Ron.

'Well? What was all that rushing off for?' demanded Ron, when Hermione returned. She slipped under the umbrella again.

'Oh, I went to put a spell on Harry's glasses, now they repel water,' she replied absentmindedly.

'Good idea.' Ron nodded his approval.

A few minutes passed without incident.

'Ron?'

'What?'

'What's the Gryffindor Captain's name?'

'Wood, Oliver Wood. Why?'

'Oh nothing. No reason at all.'

***

A/N: So how was that? Plausible start to a Hermione/Oliver romance?

Lots of thanks goes to Gemini, beta-reader extraordinaire, and the S.S Books and Broomsticks for the inspiration.

Reviews, comments and criticisms are appreciated.

***

Chapter has finished. 


	2. Awakenings

The Book Nook, Part 2: Awakenings  
  
Author: Zeft  
  
Author Email: zeft_ml@hotmail.com  
  
Category: Drama/Romance  
  
Keywords: Hermione, Oliver, Ron, Harry  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, QTTA  
  
Summary: In which Harry gets landed in the hospital wing, Hermione gets a rather tough Muggle Studies assignment and Oliver offers to take her for a trip round Hogsmeade.  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. And the song at the beginning belongs to Bic Runga.  
  
Authors Note: As I'm trying to follow the events of PoA with as little disruption as possible, some dialogue would be exactly the same as in the book. This is necessary, I'm not plagarising, okay? (Not in this chapter, but in the next one. I'm just warning you earlier.)  
  
Hermione/Oliver is coming along nicely, but as she's 13 and he's 17, I don't plan to rush things. The actual romance might take a little while to develop. I appreciate the nice reviews, keep them coming! (  
  
***  
  
Don't stray don't ever go away  
  
I should be much too smart for this  
  
You know it gets the better of me  
  
Sometimes when you and I collide  
  
I fall into an ocean of you  
  
Pull me out in time  
  
Don't let me drown  
  
Let me down  
  
I say it's all because of you  
  
And here I go losing my control  
  
I'm practising your name  
  
So I can say it to your face  
  
It doesn't seem right to look you in the eye  
  
Let all the things you mean to me come tumbling out my mouth  
  
Indeed it's time tell you why I say it's infinitely true  
  
Say you'll stay don't come and go like you do  
  
Sway my way yeah I need to know all about you  
  
And there's no cure no way to be sure  
  
Where everything's turned inside out  
  
But still in so much doubt  
  
It makes me so tired I feel so uninspired  
  
My head is battling with my heart  
  
My logic has been torn apart  
  
And now it's all so sour  
  
Cause sweets in every afternoon  
  
Say you'll stay don't come and go like you do  
  
Sway my way yeah I need to know all about you  
  
- Sway, Bic Runga  
  
***  
  
With the memory of the kiss in mind, Hermione turned back to the game. The rain and thunder had not eased a bit; it was still difficult to tell what was happening. She strained her eyes trying to see what Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Keeper, was up to, but gave up when the rain started to pelt down harder than ever before.  
  
Ron had not given up hope, however. He sat hunched forward, his heavy cloak over his head, almost off the edge of the seat. Suddenly he grabbed her arm.  
  
'Look!' He yelled loudly, still clutching her arm. Ignoring the rain for a moment, Ron pointed to where Diggory was speeding up the pitch. 'Diggory looks like he's seen the Snitch!' He moaned. 'C'mon Harry!'  
  
Hermione looked just in a time to see Harry zoom towards Diggory, flat on his broomstick. Ron stood up to yell words of encouragement, but suddenly she couldn't hear him. It felt like someone had wrapped a heavy blanket over her ears, muffling all sound.  
  
A second later she saw Ron sit back down, and a deep chill that had nothing to do with the rain swept through her. Hermione felt her head go numb and dizzy. Ron grabbed her arm again, this time more urgent and desperate.  
  
'Dementors,' he breathed shakily, look downwards. He wasn't kidding. More than a hundred of those loathsome creatures had somehow made their way onto the pitch. They cast their hoods up towards the sky, their faces hidden.  
  
Biting her lip, Hermione forced herself to look away. Instead, she saw something even more frightening.  
  
She screamed, and grabbed Ron's arm.  
  
'What?' He whipped around, trembling slightly. It was too horrifying for words; she could only point.  
  
Ron got the message.  
  
They both watched in horror as Harry slid off the end of his broomstick and plummeted towards the ground.  
  
***  
  
Hermione didn't get a chance to see Oliver much after the Quidditch match. He had been present with the rest of the team that paid a visit to Harry while he was in the hospital wing, but that was all. She caught fleeting glimpses of him in corridors, during breakfast and dinner, sometimes in the library. If she was lucky, he stayed in the common room for a few minutes before disappearing up into his dormitory.  
  
Every time Hermione saw the tall, familiar outline of a certain Keeper, she felt an unexplainable longing to go talk to him. But she was always just a few seconds too late. He strode down the hallways at the speed of lightning; no sooner had he left one class, he was in the next. If there was any logical reason for him to avoid her, Hermione would have sworn he was.  
  
Nethertheless, she could not think constantly about tracking him down, not with all the work she had. She had been quite lucky so far; Arithmancy and Study of Ancient Runes, while challenging and difficult, had not actually any assignments as such to complete. The usual nightly homework exercises were present, of course; Hermione expected them and enjoyed them, but the absence of projects that took weeks to complete was a refreshing change, she had to admit.  
  
A bleak, windy Wednesday about two weeks from the end of term, Hermione stood outside her classroom, waiting for Professor Lowell to arrive. A formidable witch, albeit a tad forgetful, Professor Lowell strongly reminded Hermione of Professor Sprout, minus the dirt and grime of the greenhouses.  
  
She looked anxiously up and down the corridor. Professor Lowell was not usually late.  
  
'Perhaps she forgot she had a lesson today,' Ernie Macmillan suggested helpfully. He was talking in hushed tones to Hannah Abbot and Terry Boot. Hermione said nothing. The corridor seemed to demand silence, and she was willing to give it.  
  
A few seconds later, the class could see Professor Lowell's form turn a corner and appear in full view. Her arms were laden down with parchment; she staggered underneath the weight of them, a shabby wizard's hat perched precariously over her head. Giving the class a thin-lipped smile, she kicked the door open and they followed her in.  
  
Hermione headed straight for her usual seat in the front row, next to Terry. It was only a small class of about twelve students, and although the classroom could fit a whole lot more, to Hermione it felt more cosy and snug than any Divination lesson had been, the students cramped in the stifling heat and mist of Trelawney's room.  
  
Professor Lowell dropped the stack on the table with a thump, and adjusted her frazzled hair.  
  
'I apologise profusely for the delay-'  
  
'Oh that's okay,' Adrian Nott interjected, 'we don't mind waiting outside.'  
  
The class gave a murmur of agreement.  
  
'That's very nice of you, Nott, but I think you may be less willing to forgive me once you find out what I have in here.' Professor Lowell said, patting her stack of parchment. Then she did something that mystified the students: taking the shabby felt hat off her head, she proceeded to shred it into pieces with a pair of scissors, and using silver ink, wrote something on each piece.  
  
'I thought she loved that hat,' muttered Terry in Hermione's ear. She had to agree, didn't Professor Lowell say the hat belonged to her late husband? The only item of clothing she had left from him?  
  
'Oh, he'll forgive me,' said Professor Lowell suddenly, as if she knew what they were thinking from the looks on their faces, 'don't worry, I've still got a pair of his boxers at home.'  
  
'These,' she said, placing her hand on the stack again, 'are your assignments.' A unanimous groan went up at these words, but Professor Lowell plowed on.  
  
'This may come as a revelation to you, but Muggle Studies is much more important than the Wizarding world seems to think. Everyday, I see ignorance in the community, and that kind of ignorance leads to hate, hate leads to all sorts of other badness.  
  
'Your job is to seek out the roots; find the seed of ignorance. Each of you will get a topic-'  
  
Ernie put up his hand.  
  
'No, Macmillan, you will not get to chose the topic.'  
  
Ernie put down his hand.  
  
'As I was saying, each of you will get a topic, drawn out of the box. Then, you will interview people, by that I mean magical folk, about the topic. Do more than a couple, and I want variety. I leave it up to you to make up the questions. Due in the second week of next term. Any questions?'  
  
'Yes, only interviews?' Terry asked.  
  
Here the class paused. Most of them were dreading the thought of more work. The interviews sounded hard enough, what if the interviewee gave you lousy answers?  
  
It wasn't a surprise to Hermione when Professor Lowell informed them that the interviews were not all. There were essays to complete. Long, well- researched essays accounting for the results of the interviews. She had expected it; the interviews were the data, and what use was data if you didn't analyse it?  
  
'Ideally, we should interview members of the Muggle public on their opinions of the Magical world as well,' said Professor Lowell, handing the sheets out. 'But that could be tricky, seeing as we don't exist.'  
  
It was time to decide the topics. Hermione crossed her fingers to get something challenging. 'Political ideas', that sounded like a good one.  
  
Hannah was up first. she walked to the Professor's desk and plunged her hand into the box. She pulled out a piece of felt and read it out.  
  
'Transport.'  
  
Professor Lowell nodded and motioned for her to sit down again.  
  
And so it went on. After Hannah came Terry, then Mandy, and then it was Hermione's turn.  
  
She walked up to the box anxiously. Terry had taken the one she wanted, but 'Communication' was still left. Putting her hand in, she drew a slip of felt out.  
  
'Sports and Games.' She said, dismayed. What a light-weight topic.  
  
'Disappointed?' asked Professor Lowell, without looking up. She gave Hermione the eerie feeling she could read minds.  
  
'It's not that bad, you know.' Professor Lowell went on, when Hermione didn't answer. 'You can't have the best topic all the time, most students would have breathed a sigh of relief to get that topic.'  
  
'So you do think it's light-weight?' Hermione challenged.  
  
'Did I ever say otherwise?' Professor Lowell raised her eyebrows. 'Judging from the standard of your work, you aren't like most students, and I feel this will be a refreshing change.'  
  
Hermione accepted this; she trusted Professor Lowell's judgement.  
  
The bell rang, and the class filed out.  
  
After dinner, armed with her trusty quill case, her assignment sheets and spare parchment just in case she ran out, Hermione headed off to the library. She said a quick greeting to Madam Pince, then headed for her usual spot, only to find it occupied again.  
  
Oliver Wood turned around as she approached. 'Ah, it's you again,' he said in way of greeting. Breaking into a big smile with made Hermione's heart start to thump, he added, 'Haven't you heard the great news?'  
  
She was mystified. 'What good news?'  
  
'Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff a few days ago! I can't believe you aren't celebrating. This is great news for Gryffindor, because if we beat Ravenclaw, it'll take us up to second place.'  
  
Was that good news? Hermione supposed it must be. Oliver looked happier than he did in weeks. Dimly, she recalled Harry telling Ron about it once, but she must have been too absorbed in her work to notice. Putting her bag down beside the chair, she took a seat next to him.  
  
'What are you doing this time? That Arithmancy go alright?' he asked, peering closely at her assignment. 'What's this?'  
  
'Oh, just a Muggle Studies assignment.' She answered, trying to sound nonchalant. Inside, she was thrilled that he remembered their last encounter, though not the Quidditch match. She wished he had made some reference to that.  
  
Shaking his head, he dived into his bag and pulled out a bottle of Butterbeer.  
  
What's that for?' Hermione muttered, suddenly worried that Madam Pince was behind them. 'You know you can't drink in the library.'  
  
Oliver just rolled his eyes and opened the lid with a snap. 'You need a break from all the work you're doing. You didn't celebrate before-' he pushed the bottle towards her, '-so celebrate now.'  
  
Hermione declined, and pulled the scarf she was wearing round her neck tighter. The winter chill had really started to seep into the castle now, and Madam Pince didn't allow fires in the library either. Or food. Or animals. She didn't really allow anything except books, and on occasion, students.  
  
Hermione wished she still had the jar of blue flames she had in her first year. It was very convenient, being able to carry a jar of warmth around in your pockets. There was no chance the fire would break out, and it would have been perfect for a night like this. She thought of asking Oliver to start a fire, just a tiny one, but decided against it. He might actually take her seriously.  
  
Ten minutes later, she began to regret not taking up the Butterbeer Oliver had offered her. Her teeth had started to chatter slightly, and her hands were ice cold to touch. Her fingers were slowly going numb, it hurt to grip the quill as tightly as she usually did. She shivered, and wished she had put on an extra jumper. Her eyes flickered over to Oliver, sitting slightly away from her, off to one side, looking perfectly content reading a book.  
  
She regarded him enviously: he wasn't wearing a school issue jumper, but a much thicker, woolly black one, that looked too large for him and very comfortable. Tracing his body down to his feet, she noticed that he didn't wear regular school shoes either; instead, he had on what looked like dragon-hide boots, the colour of chocolate and laced up tightly. A Gryffindor scarf completed the ensemble. If there was a dazzling Christmas tree behind him and a log buring merrily in a fire, it would have passed for a Christmas Card picture. Quite cute, really.  
  
Now where did that thought come from? Hermione couldn't remember thinking anyone was cute before. Nope, in her life, only puppies and kittens had been cute. Never people.  
  
Oliver suddenly looked up, straight into Hermione's eyes. She hastily looked down at her work. It was horrible; she was both hot and cold now, her cheeks flaming and her fingers frozen.  
  
Oliver opened his mouth to speak, and she prepared herself for the onslaught of teasing, you'd have to be as slow as Crabbe and Goyle not to notice what was happening. Hermione tried to harden her emotions, preparing to build a brick wall around them, if necessary…  
  
'Having a bit of trouble?'  
  
'No, I'm-what?'  
  
'Having a bit of trouble?' Oliver said again, politely. He examined her closely. Hermione wished he would look away; she certainly couldn't.  
  
'Oh no…no, I'm fine, keep reading, I'm sure that's a very interesting book…' she trailed off.  
  
Oliver shrugged. 'It's just that you've been watching me for the last couple of minutes…I'd help you, but I don't know the first thing about Muggles, so I'd probably just hinder you.'  
  
'No "Muggle Studies for the Mentally-Challenged" up your sleeve by any chance?' she joked.  
  
'Not that I know of,' answered Oliver. He smiled that wonderful smile of his, and Hermione felt herself defrosting. She wouldn't be surprised if steam had started to come out of her ears.  
  
Out of the blue, a thought came to her. She did need a few interviewees for that assignment, why not him? He'd be perfect, a wizard who knew nothing about the Muggle world, and also keen on sports. Hermione was originally going to interview Ron, but that seemed like a bad idea now. She'd have to edit out all his wise-cracks. Harry was out of the question, he knew too much about Muggles to be a truly 'ignorant'. The more she thought about it, the better an idea it was. This way, she would hopefully get also get a long compare/contrast essay between Football and Quidditch. Things were looking up.  
  
'Can I ask you a question?' Hermione blurted out. She had to explain it quickly, he had started to pack up his things and leave.  
  
'You just have, but yeah, go ahead.'  
  
She cleared her throat. 'The assignment I told you about, we have to interview people about the Muggle world, my topic is Sports and Games, and I was wondering if you minded-'  
  
'-doing an interview?' He interrupted coolly.  
  
'Well, yes.'  
  
He looked like he was about to say no, Hermione was ready to abandon all hope, after all, he was a seventh year, probably had plenty of work to do, and he didn't even know know her.  
  
'I'll do it.'  
  
'Oh, that's-you will?' she answered, surprised.  
  
'Sure. Think of it as a, let's say, get-to-know-you…thing.'  
  
Hermione was thrilled. A get-to-know-you thing? Perfect.  
  
'But not right now, I'm busy studying-'  
  
'-for the N.E.W.T.s?' Hermione interjected, looking interested. She didn't know anyone else who studied except for Percy.  
  
'Of course not. N.E.W.Ts are ages away.' Here, he held up the book he was reading.("Keeping the Goals: A Study on Defensive Tactics"). 'This is much more important.  
  
'Tell you what: How about the Three Broomsticks? A Hogsmeade trip is coming up, and I'm not staying for the holidays. I can't any other time, got to read this book and put the theories into practice. I've only got the pitch on a few nights, Ravenclaw have booked as well. We need all the practice we can get. So, how about it, Hermione?'  
  
'How do you know my name?' asked Hermione, curious. They have never told each other their names directly, she had found out from Ron what his name was, she supposed he had asked Harry.  
  
'McGonagall mentioned you a couple of times during Transfiguration,' he said, leading her towards the counter where Madam Pince stood, looking disproving. She didn't like conversations in the library.  
  
Hermione wondered what McGonagall had said about her as Madam Pince stamped Oliver's book. He had two, the one he was reading and another thin novel he had pulled off the shelves as they had walked by.  
  
'What did she say about me?'  
  
'Told us you were very clever, the smartest student she's seen in a long time, and why couldn't we be more like that?'  
  
Hermione blushed furiously as they swept out of the library and down the corridor towards the Common room. She always felt compliments coming from someone other than the source sounded a bit strange.  
  
They said no more; Oliver swept down the hallway quickly, his boots clomping softly on the stone floors. Hermione rushed quickly to catch up; she found it hard to match his long-legged stride.  
  
Halfway up the stairs they were disrupted by a group of Ravenclaw girls.  
  
'Oh Oliver!' One of them burst out, causing him to stop and turn around so quickly that Hermione bumped into him.  
  
'Oh, I'm sorry,' she apologised. He seemed to forget that she was there, and turned face the girls.  
  
'What do you want, Janine?' he said impatiently, standing with his weight on one foot, arms crossed. Hermione hastily moved to one side, surveying the scene. Five Ravenclaws girls stood at the foot of the steps, and were now slowly walking down towards them. The middle one was probably Janine. Skinny, blonde and wearing designer spectacles, she flounced down towards Oliver and stopped within hugging distance. Hermione saw Oliver adjust his position slightly, but showed no sign of backing down. It looked like a face-off. He passed her the books he was holding.  
  
'Oh nothing much. Just wanted to tell you that Cho's making a speedy recovery.' Janine said sweetly. Oliver scowled. Hermione didn't know who Cho was, but she obviously wasn't high on Oliver's list.  
  
'Well, seeing as that's all, can we pass?' He said. Janine's friends had created a barrier. If they wanted to pass, they'd have to make them move apart.  
  
'Poor thing, feeling upset about Cho? Come up to the Astronomy Tower tonight and I'll cheer you up.' said Janine, in a mock pity tone. The corridor wasn't too brightly lit, and she hadn't noticed Hermione standing there yet.  
  
'No thanks, it's freezing up there. Also, I'm busy tonight.'  
  
'Oh really? I'm sure we can find some way to get warm up there. Busy eh? With what?' Janine had just caught sight of Hermione, and looked her up and down with disdain. Hermione looked back, undaunted.  
  
'Who is this?'  
  
'Hermione. My…friend.' Oliver said through gritted teeth. He was beginning to lose his patience.  
  
'Your…friend?' repeated Janine, as though she refused to believe it. Her eyes ever so casually looked them both up and down.  
  
'Look, Janine, he and I both have plenty of work to do tonight so will you please let us through? Unlike some people, we don't have time to wander about the corridors pouncing on the first person we see to interrogate them about their activities,' said Hermione very quickly.  
  
The girls looked stunned and almost did a double-turn. Oliver looked surprised. Hermione herself didn't expect that. She knew she was a Gryffindor, but had never been particularly bold or loud. It came as quite a revelation to her that she just told off a group of Ravenclaw girls, all probably in their seventh year.  
  
It worked however, a gap appeared in the rank and Hermione passed through. No one said anything, but suddenly she felt as if all the attention was on her, you could slice the tension with a knife. She didn't looked back as she passed through, and once they were out of view, was sad to see that Oliver wasn't behind her.  
  
She leaned against the smooth stone walls to rest a while, and presently Oliver showed up. He walked with his head down slightly, slower than usual. When he smiled at her, it was a different smile, not in the physical sense, but just emotionally different. Was it respect? And gratitude? She couldn't put her finger on it. When he spoke however, it was a different story.  
  
'You shouldn't have done that,' he said remorsefully. 'They'll be looking out for you now.'  
  
'Oh, I'm not scared of them,' she replied haughtily. 'What did they want with you anyway?'  
  
He shrugged his shoulders. 'Let's just say we've had a few squabbles in the past. You should have left it to me.'  
  
They had started walking again, Hermione was desperate to know the whole story but Oliver wouldn't tell her. He was even better at deflecting questions than he was Quaffles. She got numerous one word answers, which didn't tell her anything, Hermione knew she should stop pestering him but now that she had seen those girls she was desperate to know more.  
  
Once they had reached the portrait hole, Sir Cadogan jumped off his fat pony and challenged Oliver to a duel for Hermione's hand, and was mightily disappointed when they had the password.  
  
'He wouldn't have stood a chance,' joked Oliver, looking happier than he did a while ago. 'He's got a sword and a pony, I've got a wand and a broomstick, you're as good as mine.'  
  
They had reached the stairs to the boy's dormitories, where they stopped.  
  
'The Three Broomsticks, okay?' he said quietly. He looked down at Hermione, and she noticed that his eyes softened with his voice. Like the colour of warm tea, it looked. 'I'll meet you outside at nine. It's Christmas, we could do a little sight-seeing, if you wish.'  
  
'That'll be great,' she answered. Her brain screamed at her to reconsider, where would she have to time to sight-see? And what about Ron? Perhaps the first time ever, Hermione didn't listen.  
  
'Great. I'm looking forward to it. Could do with a break.' He looked up towards the dormitories. 'Goodnight, my-' he stopped, bit his lip, then set off.  
  
Hermione spent her time walking up the staircases speculating on what Oliver could have said. Several choices came to mind, 'love','darling', 'dear', but then a nagging thought brought itself into the light. Don't flatter yourself, it said, he doesn't know the first thing about you. You've met, how many times? Twice, three times, four at most. He doesn't even know your last name.  
  
Hermione had no time to brood on these depressing thoughts, as she was accosted by Parvati and Lavender the second she stepped into the doorway.  
  
'Did you hear? Lavender likes someone else now!' Parvati squealed excitedly.  
  
'What happened to Seamus?' said Hermione dryly as she dumped her bag down on her trunk.  
  
'Oh Seamus can wait till he gets a bit older,' giggled Lavender. They both eagerly sat down on Parvati's bed, and Hermione, feeling gracious, joined them.  
  
'So, tell us then,' she said. It wasn't often that she felt like joining in the giggling, but now she was in the mood now for some good ol' fashioned girly fun.  
  
'Well, we saw him at the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match,' Parvati started. 'We were there early, at first looking out for the Ravenclaw Captain. But then, the most gorgeous guy came along, and he sat down right next to Lavender! Right next to her!' She enthused, as Lavender nodded vigorously.  
  
'It was a shame you weren't there, Hermione, otherwise you would have seen him too.' She added, looking like a love-sick puppy.  
  
'Anyway, as I said, he sat down right next to Lavender and watched the game. He didn't look up very often, in fact he was concentrating so hard on the game I think he only blinked once-'  
  
'-so what happened in the game?' asked Hermione, beginning to get bored. The guy sounded like any other normal person, maybe a spunky Ravenclaw, perhaps a rebel Slytherin. Generally, members of the same house sat together, but a few tended to mix with friends in other houses.  
  
'Oh we weren't watching the game, we were too busy looking at him.' Parvati added. 'He was a Gryffindor, because he had a gold and scarlet scarf, and also when he turned around at the beginning he had a Gryffindor crest on his robes.'  
  
Hermione nodded. 'Right, he's a Gryffindor, and also apparently really cute.'  
  
Lavender looked scandalised. 'What do you mean "apparently"? He is!'  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Sure. So what is his name?'  
  
'She doesn't know,' said Parvati, speaking for Lavender, who was looking a little detached. Her eyes had glazed over and her mouth was hanging slightly open. 'But he was really cute, though. Once, when Hufflepuff scored he had this look on his face, like a kicked puppy. I just wanted to hug him right there and then.'  
  
'Good thing you don't know his name then, otherwise he'd have two brand new stalkers.'  
  
'We don't stalk!' Lavender and Parvati replied indignantly.  
  
'I'm sure you don't.' Hermione replied automatically. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I have some reading to do.'  
  
She bend down to open her bag, and saw both of Oliver's books sitting there. Hermione wondered how they had gotten there. All of sudden she remembered when Oliver had asked her to hold his books she had never given them back to him!  
  
A loud knocking came at the door. Lavender rose to open it, only to be almost knocked off her feet when Oliver Wood barged in. Parvati took one look at him, squealed then tried to keep from blushing.  
  
Oliver closed the door then helped Lavender to her feet by gripping her by the shoulder and lifting her up. 'Sorry about that,' he said, brushing some dust off her shoulders brusquely. 'Is Hermione here?'  
  
Lavender could only point. Oliver spied Hermione, strode over to where her bag was and took out his books. 'I need these back,' he said, then left, slamming the door behind him.  
  
The shock wore over rather quickly.  
  
'That was rather rude.' Parvati pointed out. 'Gorgeous man of my dreams, but didn't even say hello.'  
  
'He's still cute though. Didn't you see Hermione? That's our Cute Guy!'  
  
Hermione shrugged. 'Bit quick, I didn't catch him.'  
  
Once Parvati had gotten over his rudeness, she and Lavender started to talk about Oliver again. Hermione had no part in their conversation, and held company with her own thoughts again. Truthfully, it bothered her that he could be so nice one minute and so brusque the next. She hadn't noticed it before, but hadn't Harry had to have Quidditch practice in rain, hail or shine? At four in the morning? Now that she thought of it, he was downright ruthless sometimes.  
  
It was a pleasing thought. Hermione had almost started to think she was on the verge of an infatuation. It reassured her that she had not forgotten his bad points in favour of a pretty face. After all, everyone knew how physical beauty had clouded her last judgment, Hermione wished she could forget that experience.  
  
Still, it was not to say that he was a bad person. No, far from that.  
  
Hermione was suddenly shaken out of her thoughts by Lavender and Parvati. They had finished their discussion and were now looking at her keenly, with something akin to curious envy.  
  
'How does he know your name, Hermione?' Lavender asked.  
  
Hermione suddenly felt very silly when she couldn't stop a big smile from breaking out. She chose to ignore Lavender, and with a smug grin, pulled her curtain hangings closed.  
  
***  
  
A/N: If you've been waiting ages for this, I sincerely apologise. In truth, I didn't expect it to take so long, and I can pretty much say the next chapter won't take as long as this one. A big thank you to the people who reviewed the first chapter, your encouraging comments were greatly appreciated.  
  
*** 


	3. A Walk in the Park

The Book Nook, Part 3: A Walk in the Park

Author: Zeft

Author Email: zeft_ml@hotmail.com

Category: Drama/Romance/Humor

Keywords: Hermione, Oliver, Hogsmeade

Rating: PG

Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, QTTA

Summary: Hermione and Oliver waltz around Hogsmeade, that's it basically. Well, they get into a little 'argument'. I won't say any more J 

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Bros., Scholastic, Raincoast Books, Bloomsbury, and whoever else she is affliated with. 

A/N: Seeing as it's Christmas, this may be a little on the fluffy side. Not to worry, if you like semi-angsty bittersweet stuff, that'll come in the next few chapters. 

I've decided to dedicate this chapter to Moony from FFn, whose uber-long review just blew me away. (Not that I don't appreciate the rest of you) I had no idea people were so into it. It was a pleasant surprise. J 

Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

***

Hermione paced round her bed one last time; she had already been up for quite a while, having been woken much earlier than necessary by the alarm clock she forgot to adjust. It was 7am on the last day of term, and in an hour the first carriages would be ready to take everyone to Hogsmeade. She had decided to bring along her whole spare wad of parchment, a few quills and a spare ink pot, her purse full of change left over from buying Crookshanks and some gloves to keep her hands warm.

Pulling back the window curtains, Hermione looked outside. A light, powdery snow was falling gently onto the lawn. As far as winter days go, it didn't look to be too cold. On her left, Lavender stirred and pulled back her hangings, rubbing her eyes. 

'How come you're up so early, Hermione?' said Lavender, picking up a brush to brush her hair. 'Looking forward to seeing that certain someone eh?' 

Even though she looked half-dead, Lavender still managed to sound teasing. It was a talent, really.

'No, I just like getting up early,' replied Hermione, pointedly ignoring Lavender's question. 'It gives me a nice, calm time to think.'

'Like you need to do more of _that._' 

Lavender wrinkled her nose, as if 'think' was a dirty word she dared not utter.

Soon enough, the rest of Hermione's dorm mates had risen, and Lavender didn't bother her anymore. She grabbed her bag, and set off towards the hall.

Ron and Harry were already eating breakfast. Ron looked cheerful, but Harry gloomy. Hermione felt desperately sorry for him. Must be terrible being the only 3rd year to stay behind again. She made up her mind to buy him something nice from Honeydukes.

'What's all that in your bag?' Ron asked Hermione as they climbed into one of the horse-less carriages. 'Surely you're not going to do _work_?'

'I'm going to look at some of the historical points of interest around Hogsmeade. They really are fascinating, you know…' she argued as Ron made a face. Technically, that was a lie, but it was something she would say, so Ron didn't think much of it.

'Do you have to go-' he started to ask.

'Look, Ron, I didn't say you must come with me,' said Hermione gently. 'Go do something fun, if you want.'

'Really?' said Ron, disbelieving. 'Are you sure you're all right? I mean, you don't usually encourage me to have fun-'

'It's Christmas,' said Hermione simply. 'I'll meet you at Honeydukes in the afternoon. We'll get a present for Harry.'

'Good idea,' Ron murmured. 

The carriages stopped right outside Hogsmeade station. Hermione saw hundreds of Hogwarts pupils disembark eagerly, running off with their friends towards the main street. She bid goodbye to Ron, who walked off to look at the joke shop with Fred and George.

Hermione waited until most of the students had disappeared. An eerie silence had descended over the station. She walked onto High St. slowly, putting on her gloves as she went to keep her fingers from going numb. 

Oliver was waiting for her outside the Three Broomsticks, just as he had promised. His face was turned slightly away, and he didn't see her at first. Hermione didn't yell out or call to him. Not yet. She wanted to observe him first. 

He fidgeted; she watched as he rolled up the sleeve of the black jumper he seemed to like so much, and take a glance at his watch. He leaned against the window pane, and crossed one foot in front of the other, tapping impatiently. He had his hands in his pockets, his robe collar turned up to block more of the wind.

Hermione decided to put him out of his misery. 'Hello Oliver,' she said warmly, and went to stand by his side. He looked down at her, there was a pause before he spoke.

'Why didn't you tell me you were watching me?' he asked exasperatedly, but also half in amusement.

'Because then you would have been all self-conscious,' Hermione replied, smiling. She was glad to be by his side. His whole self radiated a sense of warmth; it made her feel cozy and protected and was even better than one of Mum's hand-knitted jumpers. Hermione was surprised when he slid his gloved hand into hers, but she didn't mind.

'You know,' he said suddenly, pausing just before they were about to enter the Three Broomsticks, 'it's lovely out here today. I don't really feel like going in there right now. We could, that is, if you don't mind, we could go for a walk.'

'That'll be lovely,' Hermione replied before she had even thought about it. Where did her brain go? It seemed to ditch her at these times. To tell the truth, it really was a beautiful winter's day, and going anywhere with Oliver was fine with her.

Oliver seemed pleased with her answer. He adjusted his grip on her hand into a more comfortable position, and the two set off. They walked down High St., past Honeydukes, past Dervish and Banges, into the area where High St. was less of a road, and more of a snow covered path. Oliver wore the same boots he always had on, with every step they made a satisfying crunching noise on the dirty path. The properties were less thickly clustered round here; it was mostly houses, with the odd shop stuck in between. 

'This is where I bought my first broomstick,' said Oliver, pointing out a little second-hand shop that Hermione hadn't noticed till now. It was nestled between two bungalows, stumpy and crooked, but with lots of interesting things in the windows. 

'Your first broomstick? Do you live round here?' asked Hermione, surprised. Judging from his accent he was probably Scottish, but she had never entertained the thought that he might be a local. 

Oliver shook his head. 'Not anymore. We used to, though. But then dad got promoted and we moved to London. I bought my first broomstick with my pocket money. Wretched thing it was, but it managed to keep me in the air long enough, and was all I could afford.' They moved closer to look into the window better. While he admired a pair of Quidditch training gloves, she glanced briefly at a very old copy of "Hogwarts, A History". 'But right now I'm rich,' he said smugly, patting his pockets, 'got my Christmas present early.'

They moved away from the shop, back onto the main path, towards the hill on which the Shrieking Shack stood. Hermione had always wanted a closer look, but Ron had refused to go anywhere past the sign at the bottom of the hill. "'Most haunted house in Britain,' he had said, '_no one_ goes past here.'" To keep the conversation going, Hermione asked Oliver if he liked London.

'Absolutely not. Too many people, too many cars, too much everything. Can't play Quidditch anywhere. Every summer I come back up here, my grandparents still live here. Much better atmosphere, and no one cares if you decide to play Quidditch in the middle of the night. Hey, they even join in!' 

She wondered if the whole of Hogsmeade was as crazy as he was. 

'So you would know everybody that lives around here.'

'Pretty much.' As if answer to her question, an old wizard who resembled Father Christmas waved merrily to them as they walked by, and Oliver waved back. 

He suddenly stopped, so that Hermione nearly tripped when he jerked her hand.

'What?' she said irritably. 

'Do you know where you're going?' 

Hermione looked back down the street, then up the Shrieking Shack. She could see a set of fallen logs, felled by the storms, no doubt. She couldn't see what they could be doing wrong. It wasn't like the area was fenced off or anything like that. 'Yes, the Shrieking Shack. Why?'

'That place is haunted.' He said flatly, and letting go of her hand, he crossed his arms and refused to take another step. 

'Yes, I know that, but I'm not actually going _inside_,' she stressed, 'I just want a closer look.'

Oliver just shook his head stubbornly and didn't look at her. _Honestly_, Hermione thought, _why were magical folk such cowards? _'Just up to the path,' she pleaded, 'it can't be that dangerous.'

He looked doubtful, standing there with his arms crossed and a suspicious expression on his face. Being higher up the hill, Hermione was level with Oliver's face. Somehow, it was much easier to look at him when he didn't look too pleased. She knew she was never going to win the argument by pleading that nothing would happen, so she turned to her only other option. 

'Alright,' she said, not annoyed, but rather the look of a defeated parent, 'let's go back to the Three Broomsticks.' And she started to march past Oliver, and back down to the path.

Oliver turned around, looking very confused. He didn't try and pull her back, but he didn't follow her down either. He had the look of someone who had won, but wasn't quite sure how. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure even sure if he had won.

Hermione had stopped a couple of metres down, watching him bemusedly. Boys were so funny when they were confused. He stood there, eyes up to the sky, frowning in concentration.

'Did you want to have a look?' he said at last, slowly, as if to be absolutely sure of what he was saying.

'Yes,' Hermione encouraged, 'right up to the top. But because _you _don't want to, _we _should go back down where it's _nice_ and _safe._'

Somewhere deep in Oliver's brain, that remark had struck a nerve. Not many people had that particular nerve, usually only Gryffindor boys and people who'd had too much to drink.

'Right, that's it.' He said, and stomped up the hill. Hermione, thinking she had won, followed him eagerly. But at the last minute, a blast of icy wind blew bits of snow from the trees that hit them both in the face, and he seemed to remember exactly where he was. 

'I'm not going any further.' He informed Hermione curtly, and promptly planted himself down on fallen log. 'You can go up if you like, but I'm not coming with you.'

Hermione scowled. She had been so close. 'But what if something happens to me? What would I do?'

'Well, you could try screaming.'

A little voice inside Hermione's head told her it was futile trying to convince someone as stubborn as Oliver. She sunk despondently down on an overturned stump at the foot of his log. As soon as her weight was fully on it, the stump rolled and pitched her backward, and she fell onto his knees.

It felt like a pair of hammers had whacked her on the spine simultaneously. She let out an exclamation of pain, but before she could push herself up again, a pair of strong arms grabbed her under the shoulders and pulled her up onto the log to sit beside him.

'Ow,' she winced, rubbing her back at the spot that had collided with Oliver's knees. She tried to sit up straight, to make sure that nothing was damaged. It hurt like hell.

'Don't worry, you'll be right,' said Oliver after a bit, as he rubbed a gloved hand down her back and thumped it a few times for good measure to prove that nothing was broken.

She leaned her body against his side for support. Her back still ached, but the pain was subsiding slowly. It was mainly shock that had provoked such a painful response. Oliver slipped an arm over Hermione's shoulders. 

'I suppose it would be pointless to ask if your knees are okay?'

Oliver laughed. 'I've taken much harder knocks than that.'

'By those big, black things? You know, in Quidditch.'

He let out a sigh. 'Those would be Bludgers.' _Bludgers. _Just the way he said the word made Hermione go tingly. He had the most melodic accent, it was incredibly soothing. Too bad he had never used a telephone, at the moment she couldn't imagine anything better than an hour long conversation with him over the phone. 

Oliver went on. 'Sorry, didn't really answer your question. Actually, no, I haven't been hit by many Bludgers. Most Beaters are too busy trying to keep the Bludger on the opposing Chasers to pay much attention to the Keeper. It looks hard, but it's quite a safe position, as long as you have reasonably good Chasers on your team.'

'And what would you rate your team as?' asked Hermione. It was nice passing the time with him, sitting on a log together and just talking. She was in no great hurry to leave.

'Bloody good. You wouldn't believe how much they've improved - Fred, George - even Harry - I mean, he was always going to have potential, but I wouldn't have called him a champion till this year. Angelina, Katie, Alicia - they work so well as a team. You wouldn't be able to tell from first sight just how much potential they all had. Angelina and Katie were picked by the captain before me - Matthew Eddington, his name was - and I took Alicia off the reserve bench. I picked Fred and George because I knew they'd have natural chemistry, not because of their skills back then. Harry… Harry was discovered by McGonagall.'

'Yes,' Hermione mused, 'because he broke the rules.'

'Lucky thing it was McGonagall though. If Snape saw him it would have been a detention and straight to Dumbledore, and then I'd still be in a mad rush to find a new Seeker.'

'But that doesn't excuse the fact that he broke the rules!' 

'When did I say it did?' replied Oliver. 'So, he screwed up once. People do it all the time. Sometimes even me.' He paused, then added, 'but not very often.'

'Done a bit of rule breaking yourself, have you?' Hermione said tartly. She felt a bit guilt that she sounded so accusing when she saw him draw in a deep breath; however much everyone saw her as a model student, deep down that didn't excuse the fact that she had done quite a bit of rule bending herself.

'Actually, it's a matter of deepest shame that I have a clean record,' he smirked.

His arm slid off her shoulder as Hermione sat up straight, quite surprised. 'Really? Truly?'

'There are such things as law-abiding maniacs, believe it or not.'

'We should get some work done,' Hermione said, out of the blue. However nice it was to sit here, the assignment had to come first. She stood up in a hurry, and brushed some stray bits of snow off herself. Gathering up her bag, she hoisted it over one shoulder and tried to make her hair stay relatively neat.

'I should have known you'd say that,' Oliver said, bemused. He stood up as well, and out of instinct offered his hand to Hermione, who took it gingerly.

They set off back down the path, hands entwined. Hermione didn't really know what to say to him, so she said nothing. This love business was a lot more confusing that she bargained. They weren't speaking…was that good or bad? He hadn't said anything to her that even hinted at a relationship, should she give up hope? Fair enough, she didn't give him any sign either, but it wasn't it usually the guy who was supposed to initiate things?

Hermione scowled, annoyed at how she saw both sides of the argument so easily. It made proving your point very difficult when you could sympathise with the opposition. 

Hermione hadn't realised that Oliver was watching her facial expressions the whole time. Being taller, it was much easier and much less obvious for him to glance down at her than for her to cast her eyes up to him. He had been watching her, and mistook her grimace for boredom. 

'Boring you, am I?' He said matter-of-factly. Hermione started.

'No-what?'

This time he stopped, and did a quick half turn so that he blocked her way down the hill. Somewhere along the line he had also taken her other hand into his, so that they were holding both hands together and facing each other.

'I asked if I was boring you,' he said seriously, without a trace of affection nor any other sort of emotion, 'you looked bored.'

'I didn't look bored!' Hermione replied quickly, perhaps a little too strongly, for Oliver flinched and leaned ever so slightly away. 'I…frowned. That doesn't indicate boredom.'

'It indicates anger-'

'No-'

'Depression-'

'No, I'm-'

'Unhappy.'

Hermione paused. The word lingered in the air between them like the remains of a smelly deodorant. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it was starting to foul up the area. No one said anything. Oliver looked down at his shoes, thinking that he must had said too much.

Hermione closed her eyes. Was she unhappy? No, definitely not. How could he think such a thing? Unless…

No, it was unthinkable. Wishful thinking. She was definitely treading hard into dreamland here. 

'Perhaps you'd be happier off with your friends.'

Hermione blinked, not wanting to believe what she had heard. _Happier off with her friends? But…she was with a friend, wasn't she? Didn't he say, just a week ago…? Or did he change his mind? Or was it just a slip of the tongue? Maybe she was hallucinating, or something…_

Hermione cast her eyes downwards again, not wanting Oliver to see in case a tear slipped down her cheek. The remark had wounded her deeply. It was just like in first year…when Ron had made that cruel (yet at the time, accurate) observation that she had no friends. She gulped deeply, wanted desperately to tell him everything; she was sick of bottling things up. She didn't want to pretend anymore. Not with him, not with Harry, not with Ron. 

However long they stood there facing each other, not daring to look each other in the eye, Hermione didn't know. Her hands had lost a bit of feeling. Oliver hadn't let go yet, but she could feel that he was merely holding on out of politeness like in primary school when the teachers told you to hold hands and stand in a circle. It was similar to that, totally devoid of any feeling. She blinked furiously, then resolved to give him an answer.

'I can't leave now,' she said resolutely. 'My assignment…'

'Ah, the assignment,' he said passively. There was a sigh in his voice, as if that was the very last thing he wished to hear. 'I had forgotten.' Hermione was just a tad miffed that he had accused _her _of being miserable in his company, when he sounded so forlorn himself.

'We better get back to the Three Broomsticks,' she said determinedly. If Oliver was out of her reach, then at the very least she was going to make sure she got a spanking good interview out of him. She let go of his hands, turned, and walked back down to the level where the road was smooth and straight.

Oliver let her go without much of fight. He shoved his empty hands into his pockets roughly, and marched on behind her. Such a little figure, but with the intelligence and diligence of the best University professors. He shook his head sadly; she only wanted him because he knew about Quidditch. Still, he couldn't say that he hadn't enjoyed talking to her; most girls he had met previously seemed only interested in one thing, and that thing was him. The least he could do was make sure she got a spanking good interview out of him. 

Hermione didn't look back once as she made her way down to the crowded part of Hogsmeade. She didn't even bother to find out if Oliver was following her anymore. If he was, he was being very silent.

Hermione was just about to push open the door to the Three Broomsticks when it seemingly opened by itself.

'You didn't have to do that,' she told Oliver, 'I can open doors perfectly well on my own.'

He shrugged. 'Call it my inner gentleman coming out.'

'Didn't know you had one,' remarked Hermione, as they made their way over to an empty table. 

'It pops up every now and then. Not often, mind you, so you better not go letting on to the rest of the girls otherwise they'd all be demanding their doors opened.'

Hermione laughed. 'Drinks?'

'Certainly. I'll get them.' Oliver got up and disappeared towards the counter.

No sooner had he left, Parvati and Lavender turned up, sidling into the benches next to Hermione.

'Fancy seeing you here, Hermione,' said Parvati. 'Where's your other-half?'

'My- what?'

'Significant other. You know,' Parvati lowered her voice, as if it was some great secret she was revealing, 'Oliver Wood.' 

'Oh, him. He's gone to get drinks.' Hermione replied matter-of-factly. 

'We'll be leaving you then,' whispered Lavender, on Hermione's other side. 'You must be sure to tell us all about your first date when you get back.' For a moment, Lavender looked almost wistful. 'Never knew you'd be the first…you were always so…sensible.'

They both left with half amused, half envious looks.

Oliver slid back into his seat, placing a tankard of Butterbeer and a glass of Gillywater on the table. He had taken off his jumper; Hermione could see that he wore a plain white button-up shirt underneath. He frowned at Parvati and Lavender's retreating backs. 

'What was that all about?'

Hermione panicked for a second, how much did he hear? But then she merely gave a shrug. 'Just some friends. They wanted to know why I was sitting here alone…' she let that sentence trail off.

'Ah…but you're not.' He smiled. 'You're with me.'

That thought and the way he said it made Hermione feel warm all over. She ducked to retrieve her things from under the table, this also allowed her to grin away without anybody else seeing. She reached down and opened her bag. And shrieked.

Immediately Oliver's head appeared under the table. 'What is it?' he asked, looking worried. 'Did you lose something?'

'No…no…no…' Hermione was rifling through her bag, not wanting to believe it. Where did her interview sheet go? She was absolutely sure she had it with her, where did it go? 

'What did you lose?' Oliver persisted. 

Hermione pulled her head back out from under the table. Oliver followed suit. 'It's gone,' she said hollowly. 

'What's gone?'

'My assignment. All the questions I wrote. My draft essay structure. My notes. All of it.' 

'No worries…it's just your assignment, that's not too bad. You can always do it again.' Oliver tried to reason.

'No, I can't!' Hermione snapped, not noticing that Oliver flinched. 'How would you feel if something you'd taken ages to come up with, something that would have been brilliant, twenty succinct questions that don't overlap each other, and all in perfect logical order too just went missing?' she whispered. 'Now I'm going to get a mediocre mark because you're going home for the holidays. What do you have to say to that?'

Hermione knew that it wasn't his fault; that he was a saint for even agreeing to do this in the first place, but it was much easier to give into anger than to reason. She fumed slightly for a few seconds, though it seemed longer.

When Oliver spoke, it was in an odd, tight voice. 'You spent half the night on that?'

'All the night,' Hermione sniffed, 'and a good deal of the afternoon as well.'

'I'm…flattered.' Hermione gave him an curious glance, so he continued. ' Flattered, that you would spend so much time on something which could all go to waste if I didn't show up. Flattered that you asked me instead of Harry, Ron, Fred, George…'

'You know more about Quidditch than they do.'

'Yeah?' he gave a wry smile, but then he turned serious again. 'Still, I don't see how you could be so upset over just a school-'

'What about if the Captain of the Slytherin team stole _your _notes?' she challenged.

Hermione could have sworn that Oliver's hand reached compulsively into his breast pocket. She grinned in spite of herself. 

'Don't tell me…'

Oliver feigned ignorance. 'What?' 

'You keep your notes in your pocket, don't you?' 

'Best place for them,' he said defensively. 'Keeps nasty gits like Flint getting his grubby hands on them.'

'And yet you make such a big deal about me making such a big deal about my missing notes.' Hermione said, shaking her head in mirth.

'Well, my notes are more important.' Said Oliver haughtily. 

'How?'

'Well, if my notes get taken it's doom for the Gryffindor team.'

'Yes, that's really bad compared to me falling bottom of my Muggle Studies class even though I'm a Muggle-born.' Replied Hermione sarcastically. 

'No need for sarcasm,' said Oliver, pretending to look hurt, but failing miserably because he was on the verge of cracking up, 'you could always write some more. If Flint gets my notes I can't write a better version to counter it.' 

'Why not?'

'Because my notes are already the best, of course.' 

'No, they aren't.'

'Yes, they are.'

Hermione screwed up her face. 'Alright, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and believe you.' Oliver looked smug. 'But I still don't see how it could compare to me possibly failing a subject. Do you know who's in my class? Terry Boot, Adrian Nott, and Mandy Brocklehurst. Geniuses if I ever saw any.'

'The word you used is _possible, _m'dear. There isn't a hundred percent chance you'd fail. Gryffindor goes down the drain if the notes go.'

'That's not for certain,' refuted Hermione, 'you could still win.'

'No, we couldn't.'

'Yes, you could.'

Oliver glared. He stroked his chin. 'Perhaps,' he said, pointedly ignoring Hermione's triumphant smile, 'but very, very rare. Besides, you're being selfish and only thinking of yourself. The whole of Gryffindor's reputation is at stake for the Cup.'

That stopped Hermione. She racked her brains for an argument. This debate was fun, and she was enjoying herself, but she couldn't let him win, she just couldn't!

'Yes, but _you're _being selfish if you think you're Gryffindors' only hope of salvation. The Quidditch Cup isn't as important as the House Cup, and we win that every year.'

'But we haven't won the Quidditch Cup for the past seven years,' Oliver grimaced, as if that fact caused him a great deal of pain. 'we need it more than you do.'

'Exactly my point. People don't expect you to win, so you don't need to.' She didn't take notice of the fact that Oliver was now staring at her as if she had two heads and they were both on backwards. 'I _need _to keep my place at the forefront. People will lose respect for me if I don't keep my status as a know-it-all.' Ordinarily Hermione would have cringed at using the title bestowed upon her by almost all her class-mates, but in this light-hearted argument she felt that nothing could possibly insult her.

'You know, sometimes I wonder about you.' Oliver started. Hermione tilted her head and looked attentive. She couldn't see where he was going with this one. 'I think you must be a Ravenclaw in disguise.' She raised her eyebrows. Was he giving up? 'I mean, you've got brains-' he started to list attributes using his fingers, 'talent, you like to start arguments over little things, you _really _ don't want Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup-'

'I never said that! I want Gryffindor to win the Cup, I do!' 

'Well, if that's the way you think, then you can't deny that my notes are more important than yours. So ha!' he laughed, then got up and did a little victory dance.

Hermione blinked. Did she just lose a debate? Of course not, but there wasn't much point going on. Oliver doing a victory dance was too cute to miss. 

He sat back down, grinning devilishly and waggling his eyebrows. 'What do you say to that eh?'

Hermione mustered all the self-control she had to try and not laugh. 'Oh…you're impossible!' she burst out, then did something very unexpected and unHermione-like. She reached over and ruffled his hair.

There was a pause. Then the two of them laughed themselves silly. People were beginning to give them strange looks. 

'See, things did turn out okay,' said Oliver, slightly sobering up.

'That Gillywater must have caffeine in it,' said Hermione. 'There's no other explanation for why we just turned into lovable idiots.'

'But I haven't drunk any yet,' said Oliver. 'It's still full to the brim.' 

'But you're always a lovable idiot.' 

'I'll choose to take that as a compliment.' He paused for a moment, then went on, 'I was thinking, I could still do the assignment of yours, just send me an owl. It won't take long, I'll be in Hogsmeade most of the time.' He said, before taking a sip of Gillywater.

'You're staying the whole two weeks with your grandparents?'

'Yep. Ask anyone who's a local, they all know where I live.' 

Hermione rubbed her forehead. 'That could work out…but I still don't know how I'm going to redo all of it…'

'You've probably just left it somewhere in your dorm. Happens all the time to me.'

'Hopefully…' Hermione trailed off and looked down at her watch. She gasped. 

'What did you lose this time?' 

'No, didn't lose anything, but I do have to be somewhere else.' She looked apologetically at Oliver. He shrugged.

'No worries. You haven't drunk any of your Butterbeer.'

'Oh, you can have it if you want,' said Hermione absentmindedly, frantically repacking the things she had taken out to search for her question sheet. 'I don't mind.'

She looked up in time to see Oliver finish off the whole tankard in one continuous gulp. _How do they do that? _Hermione wondered. She certainly couldn't. 

'You've got a little moustache,' she pointed out when he wondered why she smirked at him.

'Not anymore.' He licked it off with a sweep of the tongue. Then he proceeded to chug down the rest of his Gillywater.

They made their way to the door unobserved. Hermione was almost frightened someone was going to recognise them. Why she even cared, she couldn't answer. All she had been doing was asking for help with a school assignment. _And looking way too happy while doing so, _she thought grimly. Thankfully she could see no sign of Lavender or Parvati, who would have surely pounced and tried to interrogate her by now, had they seen what happened.

There seemed to be a blockade under the doorway. There was a ring of bodies that Hermione couldn't see past. The sounds of laughter and shrieks of delight filtered through. 

They pressed closer to the group. Oliver stood on his tiptoes to try and see what was going on. 

'Mistletoe,' he said, bending down to speak to Hermione easier, 'all this fuss over a bunch of herbs.' Hermione couldn't tell whether he sounded disgusted or not.

'Mistletoe isn't a herb,' she corrected him, 'it's a parasite plant that grows on other trees.' 

He made a face. 'Looks like we'll have to barge through.' He gave a great big sigh and took Hermione's hand, as if some horrible penalty lay at the other end.

They would have made it out undetected, had not some big guy clapped Oliver on the shoulder and pulled him back.

'Kip!' He roared, slapping Oliver on the back, 'cracking good to see you!'

Hermione raised her eyesbrows. Oliver let go of her hand, so she could slip away, but the guy had spotted her as well.

'Haven't met you before,' he grinned at her. 'Name's Dodger. Simon Dodger. And you are?'

'Hermione Granger,' she said without blinking, looking him straight in the eye.

'Right, right. Well go on then, give Kip a kiss!'

'What?' Oliver and Hermione said at the same time.

'Mistletoe, darlings,' said Simon, gleefully pointing at the ceiling, 'do I have to spell it out for you?'

'Could've sworn it wasn't up there before,' growled Oliver. 'Lemme guess, you put it up?'

'Bingo!' said Simon, grinning like a maniac. Hermione was strongly reminded of a homocidal clown. She wanted to escape, but there was no way through the crowd of Oliver's contemporaries. 

'It's very simple…' Simon taunted. 'Either he kisses you, or you kiss him.' 

'I-' Oliver began, but was abruptly cut off when Hermione kissed him on the cheek. He looked amazed, then confused, then blank, then happy. It was quite interesting to watch.

Simon wolf-whistled, then the crowd in front of the door thinned a bit. Oliver was swamped by what Hermione assumed were his friends, she mouthed him a quick 'see you later' then disappeared out the door.

She walked quickly, with her head bowed down against the wind. She knew it was rude to leave him just like that, but had she stayed Simon would have probably complained that it wasn't a 'real' kiss, and it'll be another embarrassing ten minutes before she could disappear.

It was the first kiss Hermione had ever given anyone, that's for sure. Sure, she wasn't kissed back, (and she was glad that she wasn't, she didn't feel like getting snogged in front of his friends), but it still counted.

The thing she was worried about was whether he liked it or not. It was rather hard to tell. He was more surprised than anything, Hermione had flew out before she could see anything else. She wondered if she should say something to him tonight or tomorrow morning, before he left.

But what would she say? Good-bye? Have a nice Christmas? I'll see you soon? They all seemed too generic, like something she would say to Seamus or Terry or Ernie. As the only person who had kissed her and gotten kissed back, Oliver deserved something better.

Hermione firmly pushed all thoughts of Oliver to the back of her head. That could be dealt with later, right now she had to meet Ron and have a good excuse for turning up late, with a face as pink as the Easter Bunny's ears.

***

A/N: Yay! It's finished. If everything went to plan this would have been done about two weeks ago, but nothing ever goes to plan, does it? 

I don't need to write what happens at Honeydukes, 'cos everyone already knows. Reviews, criticisms et al., are appreciated.

***

Chapter is finished.

__


	4. Long Distance Relationship

Title: The Book Nook 

Chapter 4 - OwlPals 

Author: Zeft

Author Email: zeft@kittymail.com 

Rating: PG 

Summary: Hermione worries over Harry and the Sirius affair, worries about whether she should try and be friendlier to Oliver, and worries about the amount of work she has.  
  
Meanwhile, Oliver is talked into being nicer to Hermione by his sister, using terms that he can understand.  
  
So everything's perfect, eh?  
  
Wrong. Hermione does something at the end that Oliver's not going to be too pleased about...  
  
A/N: I apologise for taking about a year and a half to write this one itty bitty chapter. Especially because it's not terribly long or moves the plot terribly forward. Perhaps that's why it was so tedious to write. This is basically just the same chapter 4 I uploaded before, but this is the better version with two extra scenes.  
  
This chapter is more of transitional chapter, I call it 'filler'. Basically it's supposed to set up the next chapter.  
  
Thanks to Gem for beta-ing, and thanks to my friends for telling me to hurry up.  
  
Share and Enjoy. (And review).  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I am not making any money from this, nor am I attempting to pass this off as the real thing.  
  
***  
  
Hermione woke up feeling more tired than when she went to bed. The girls' dormitory was deserted; all her dorm mates had gone home for Christmas. She would have been sorely tempted to return home as well, if not for the fact that Harry needed her.  
  
And how he did.  
  
Hermione thought back to the conversation at the Three Broomsticks. She had felt bad enough hearing that story; she could only undoubtedly imagine what a worse position Harry was in, being at the centre of it all. Learning that your parents died not because of the Dark Lord, but from the betrayal of one of their closest friends.  
  
Sirius Black would have meant to James what Harry and Ron now meant to Hermione. To even entertain the thought of Ron handing her over to You-Know- Who was unthinkable, but if Sirius was capable of doing it. There was no security in anything.  
  
So troubled was Hermione with these thoughts that she took off her pajamas and then put them straight back on again.  
  
Ron was already up when Hermione walked down the stairs. She had brought her homework along. She glanced at him and immediately pushed all thoughts of Not-So-Nice-Ron away. They were here to help Harry.  
  
'It's the holidays, Hermione. Must you do your homework right now, and in front of me?' said Ron, in a half-exasperated, half-pitying voice.  
  
'There are more important things to discuss than whether or not it's acceptable to do work during the Break.'  
  
'I know,' Ron nodded grimly. 'Black.'  
  
Hermione put her work down, surprised. She didn't think that Ron would be thinking of him too. She pulled a footstool over and sat down next to him.  
  
'We have to keep him away from Harry.'  
  
'Or keep Harry away from him.'  
  
'What do you mean by that?' said Hermione, looking puzzled. 'Harry's not going to go after him, is he?'  
  
'He might.'  
  
'But, but- why?' Hermione racked her brain for an answer as to why a 13 year old boy would want to chase after a murderer who killed thirteen people then laughed about it. She couldn't find one.  
  
'Look, Hermione, there's something you have to understand.'  
  
'I'm listening,' said Hermione attentively. 'Go on.'  
  
'When some people are upset, they do stupid things they wouldn't normally do.'  
  
Hermione blinked. 'But going after Black's a bit too stupid, isn't it?'  
  
'No, it's just stupid enough.'  
  
Hermione tried to understand. But she couldn't. She looked hopelessly at Ron.  
  
'I'll give you an example. Say it was your parents-' (Hermione shivered) '- who got betrayed by your Godfather and as a result they died and left you as an orphan and now that traitor is running free, what would you do?'  
  
'Well,' began Hermione, automatically forming a summary of an essay response in her head, 'initially I'd be really upset-'  
  
'You're getting it.'  
  
**  
  
Thankfully, the visit to Hagrid's had somewhat dampened Harry's enthusiasm for revenge. In the few days leading up to Christmas, in-between researching a case for Buckbeak's defense with Harry and Ron, Hermione was busy formulating a letter to Oliver. It took longer than she had hoped, because frankly she didn't know how to go about it.  
  
Should she make it formal, and just request the answers that she needed? Somehow she thought Oliver deserved better than that. But what if she came across too friendly? She didn't want him to get the wrong impression. On second thoughts.what was the right impression?  
  
The nagging feeling in her gut told Hermione that she was repressing what she really wanted to say. All the better.her head told her, saying exactly what was on your mind was unlikely to lead to happy endings.  
  
In the end she adopted a casual tone.  
  
_Dear Oliver,  
  
How have your holidays been so far? I hope for your sake you were joking when you said you like practicing Quidditch in the middle of the night. (Did you notice the weather we've been having?)  
  
Unfortunately I've got a heap of work to do over the break, and I thought I might finish Muggle Studies first.  
  
I'm very sorry about the episode at the Three Broomsticks. As you know I hoped to have the interview completed that day, but due to my own silliness it couldn't be done. If you're not too busy, could you answer the following questions as soon as possible? Answer as truthfully as you can, don't worry about writing anything that could offend. Merlin knows I don't have any firm opinions on either Quidditch or football anyway.  
  
Question numbe…  
_  
**  
  
_...thank you again for your help. I really couldn't think of anyone better qualified. I hope you enjoy the rest of your holidays, and I look forward to seeing you again when school resumes.  
  
Best wishes, Hermione  
_  
Oliver grinned and tucked the letter into his robe pocket. He grabbed some parchment from a nearby stack and started writing. Hermione had given him perfect excuse to voice all the opinions he had on Quidditch, the League, and why it was better than Muggle sports. Usually when he got started on how the Quidditch Association was going backward everyone would either ignore him or tell him to shut up.  
  
'What's that? Don't tell me you're studying?'  
  
Alex had drifted into the room. She summoned a chair and sat down opposite Oliver.  
  
'It's a letter.'  
  
'I can see that,' she answered, rolling her eyes. 'Who's it from? A girlfriend?'  
  
'Um.I guess.actually, not really.'  
  
Now Alex looked interested. She straightened up. 'What do you mean, "not really"?'  
  
Oliver shrugged. He really wanted to just get on with the questions but ignore Alex for too long and she'd come down on you like a tonne of bricks.  
  
'She's a girl, she's a friend, but the two parts don't add up.' Oliver raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Get it now?" and turned back to his work.  
  
Alex sighed and twirled some strands of hair that had strayed. 'That's a pity. I think a girlfriend would be good for you. You need someone to stop you turning into a psycho.'  
  
'Quidditch is life. Everything else is just filler.'  
  
'Well said, Confucius.' Alex kicked the back of Oliver's chair to get his attention. 'Do you want her to be your girlfriend, then?'  
  
Oliver paused. He would have liked to just snap "no" and try and throw Alex out of the room, but somehow it felt wrong. He swiveled so that he was now facing his sister. 'It's more complicated than that.'  
  
'Tell me about her then. Is she smart?'  
  
'Smartest person I know.'  
  
'Aha! Exaggeration. That's a good sign. Do I know her?'  
  
'She's after your time.'  
  
'Robbing the cradle much? 2nd year?'  
  
'THIRD!'  
  
Alex put her hands up in a pacifying gesture. 'Okay, I understand why you're a little reluctant then. Your friends will give you stick for the rest of your life and make lewd jokes whenever the two of you are the same line of sight.'  
  
Oliver mumbled.  
  
'But don't let that deter you,' Alex quickly added. 'Having a girlfriend brings many benefits.'  
  
'Such as?'  
  
'The pleasure of her company.'  
  
Oliver groaned. 'That's great, but what I'm just being stupid? You can't just pursue someone.' he trailed off, waving the quill around aimlessly. A few drops of ink splattered onto his robes.  
  
'You said you liked her, didn't you?'  
  
'But what if I'm just being delusional? I also said I liked Falcons for a bit and look what happened!'  
  
Alex, whose memory was not as clear as Oliver's when it came to matches, asked, 'What happened?'  
  
'Well, last year I warmed to Falcons when they trounced Tornadoes. I even began to see the nicer side of the team, if that was possible. Next Puddlemere match was against them, but we were at home, and I wasn't too worried that they beat Tornadoes because everyone knows Tornadoes are crap.  
  
'So I was feeling reasonably confidant, confidant enough to make a bet. I bet Ewan one dare that Puddlemere would win. So I went to the match, and we lost 310-70.  
  
'And you know why we lost?'  
  
'Wh-'  
  
'It was punishment. Punishment because I was sucked in by the Falcons attractive and intelligent style of play, unable to see that they were really dirty, cheating bastards. I had strayed and I got what I deserved.'  
  
'So what did Ewan get you to do? Skinny dip in the lake?'  
  
'Nothing, I haven't spoken to him since.'  
  
Alex had to laugh. 'You really think your potential relationship is going to turn out like this?'  
  
'It might.'  
  
'Well.' Alex tried thinking in terms that Oliver could understand, 'What if this girl-'  
  
'Hermione.'  
  
'-Hermione turns out to be a Puddlemere, instead of a Falcons? Make you pretty happy, wouldn't it? Two championships, eh?'  
  
'Three.'  
  
'I'm sorry,' said Alex, exasperated. 'But if you're not willing to take a chance, then you're going to get nothing.'  
  
There was a brief silence.  
  
'Think about it, okay?' She said, getting up to leave.  
  
'Yeah, alright, alright,' Oliver grumbled, also getting up so he could shove Alex out of the room. 'I'll think about it.'  
  
He promised her he'd think about it, but once Alex was gone, Oliver found that his mind was made up from the start, and he was just being paranoid and difficult. He resolved to be a bit more friendly and easy-going next time he saw Hermione, which he hoped would be soon as he got back.  
  
Ignoring the numerous ink stains along his sleeve, he starting writing again with gusto.  
  
**  
  
Hermione sat down in her usual secluded spot in the library to put the finishing touches on her Muggle Studies assignment. It wasn't due for another two weeks, but that was no reason to put it off. Oliver had been a real gentleman by replying to her letters almost instantly, and the depth of his answers were a lot better than Hermione had expected. She still had to polish them up a bit, mainly for grammar, but what he actually said she left untouched.  
  
It was now four o'clock on the last day of the Christmas break. In a few hours the rest of the Hogwarts student body would be back. Hermione disliked the transition; she cherished the peaceful corridors and halls, and found it awkward when the Common Room would once again be full of the cheerful, aimless prattle of the lower grades, mingled with the more cynical, gossipy tones of the older years. But, she did look forward to seeing Oliver again.  
  
Hermione was right in the middle of her essay when her world plunged into darkness.  
  
'Guess who?'  
  
The melodic voice alone was a dead giveaway as to who had unmercifully just covered her eyes, but Hermione would have been mortified if she was wrong. She pleaded ignorance.  
  
'I don't know. Who?'  
  
There was a bemused sigh from behind her. 'You're no fun,' said Oliver Wood, removing his hands and hopping onto the table to keep her essay company.  
  
'It's nice to see you face to face again after two weeks of owl correspondance,' said Hermione, trying to keep her grin in place so her head wouldn't fall off. 'How are you, by the way?'  
  
'Ah, not so bad. Same as always, really. And I agree about that face to face thing.' He leaned over and lay down onto Hermione's desk, propped up on one side with an elbow. 'Might I add,' he said, his voice turning a notch lower, 'that you look very pretty in those robes today.'  
  
Hermione blinked. 'Oliver, I'm wearing school uniform. I wear school uniform everyday, just like the rest of the school.'  
  
'Ah, but you look much prettier in them than the rest of the school does.'  
  
Hermione laughed. 'There was an insult in there somewhere.'  
  
Oliver gave a 'who, me?' expression. Then he turned sincere again.  
  
'I am a man of my word, you know. You do look lovely today, and seeing as you wear the same thing everyday, the only logical conclusion is that you must look lovely everyday.'  
  
Right there and then, Hermione decided that that was the best compliment that she had ever heard and was probably ever going to hear. So many people focused on her academic accomplishments as items to praise, nobody seemed aware of what every girl longs to hear.  
  
'Gee, that's.awfully sweet.' She started, not knowing how to go on. This was beyond blush territory, if she was the sappy type, she'd be in the break-down-and-cry-tears-of-joy stage right now. Thankfully she didn't; that would have ruined her essay for sure, but her eyes were rather moist.  
  
'Yeah, I was a bit wary when I thought of it,' said Oliver, trying to break the tension with a bit of humour, 'but now I know that it works I can use it on a few other girls.'  
  
Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry or do both.  
  
'That's mean,' she finally sniffed. 'You can't use the same compliment twice.'  
  
'I don't plan to. Defeats the purpose.' He suddenly leaped off the desk and twirled around to face Hermione's back. She turned around. 'Do you think I get my compliments from books, or something?' Oliver asked, teasing. Before Hermione could reply, he added, 'I mean, I'm sure that you do, knowing the value of a good book, but average blokes like me have to make things up.'  
  
'Now I'm certain that was an insult,' grinned Hermione. 'I'm going to have to get you back sometime.'  
  
'An insult from a book, no doubt.'  
  
He yelped and dived under the desk as Hermione threw "Muggle Sports for Wizards and Witches" at him.  
  
'Yep, you guessed correctly, an "insult from a book", as you so cleverly put it.' She smirked at him when he crawled out. He knelt on the carpet to brush some dust off his kneecaps before taking his usual spot next to Hermione.  
  
'Nice comeback, but you missed.' He caught sight of Hermione's essay. 'What's this?'  
  
'My assignment.' Hermione answered, but Oliver wasn't listening. He was flicking through Hermione's many pieces of parchment at rapid speed, taking pauses now and then to read certain passages and raise his eyebrows. 'You got all this from my answers?' he asked after a few minutes had passed.  
  
'Yes - well, I know it's not much, and I haven't finished yet, but-'  
  
'Not much? Not finished?' Oliver was finding it hard to express himself. 'This is - this is - some serious stuff. You make me sound like an intellectual.' He shook his head and smiled to himself. 'I just hope this doesn't get out.'  
  
'Why?' asked Hermione. He didn't sound too happy. 'I'd think it'd be good for people to regard you as smart.'  
  
'Not at all. Then all the girls would be chasing after me. They want the whole deal. Brains, looks, muscle, money's nice too. Thankfully I can get away from all that by acting like a maniac.'  
  
Hermione was about to disagree but shut her mouth when she thought of Lavender and Parvati.  
  
'So you're not just a Quidditch jock,' She said. It wasn't a question.  
  
'No, that stuff's true. I'm also a ruthless scroundrel,' He said with a straight face. Hermione didn't know whether to believe that or not. He didn't look like he was lying. He was looking right at her, almost through her with his 'warm tea' eyes. He was on the verge of disclosing some information Hermione didn't particularly feel she would want to hear.  
  
'Broken many girls' hearts, have you?' she said nonchalantly, determined to keep the tone light.  
  
'No, I haven't actually. Is that a scoundrel requirement?' asked Oliver, leaning back and looking at her sideways.  
  
'Some might say, yes,' she answered quietly. Certainly all the scoundrels in the books she had read had been devilishly handsome cads. She didn't like the way the conversation was going. She turned back to tidy up the pieces of parchment Oliver had scattered over the desk.  
  
'Might have to work on that a bit, then.'  
  
There was an awkward silence that only Hermione seem to feel. Oliver didn't look any different. He got up slowly and stretched, giving her a very close- up view of his tall frame, before wandering out of sight.  
  
'Are you tired?' asked Hermione disbelievingly. To her it seemed he had an unlimited supply of energy.  
  
'I was up all weekend,' replied Oliver, pinching his nose. 'I walked to school this afternoon.'  
  
'Why were you up all weekend? It's not good for your health, you know.'  
  
'You're one to talk.'  
  
Hermione blushed and looked away. She had hoped that he didn't notice the bags under her eyes. Normally it would have been a lot easier to charm them away, but she never had any time for that, and it felt like cheating, in an odd kind of way.  
  
'Why were you up so late anyway?'  
  
'Quidditch. Was hiking one day and a fantastic idea came to me. It'll really knock Slytherin's socks off.'  
  
Hermione didn't bother to ask what his fantastic idea was. Most likely he wouldn't say, and she wouldn't understand if he did.  
  
Oliver tried to smother another gigantic yawn. 'I've got to be going.' He started to walk away, but then swiveled back on his heels and grinned lopsidedly at her. 'I'll see you at the Feast. Save me a seat?'  
  
Hermione nodded. 'Of course.'  
  
Oliver made a thumbs-up sign. 'By the way, has Harry got a new broomstick?'  
  
Hermione hesitated. She wasn't quite sure what to say. On one hand, Harry did get a new broomstick, but he didn't have it anymore. So theoretically, he doesn't have a new broomstick.  
  
'No, he hasn't.'  
  
Oliver rolled his eyes before jogging off.  
  
Hermione was left mulling over what she had said, furiously trying to stop the guilt that was creeping in, all the while feeling very, very sleepy.  
  
**  
  
A/N: So how was that? Worth the wait? (Don't answer that).  
  
If you think someone is grossly out of character, please tell me, because if you don't it'll probably happen again.  
  
Is Alex Mary-Sue material?  
  
Would you like to see more of Parvati and Lavender? Alex? Oliver's bizarre friend Simon? Janine and her minions?  
  
All questions and comments will be taken into consideration.


End file.
